“And if I push harder?”
“Then you could potentially place yourself in peril. Not from the Senate but from the American public,” he told her.
“My, that is a dilemma.”
“Yes Ma’am, you could certainly say that with the utmost confidence,” Neilson replied.
**
“Would someone please tell me what the heck is going on around here,” Buck said as he stormed into the trailer, holding a paper in his hand.
“What are you talking about? You know what’s going on as much as we do,” Randal replied looking up from where he had been peering through the microscope.
“I’m talking about this,” he said waving it in the air, “Darned note I got today.”
“Let me see?” Randal said holding out his hand.
“I just don’t get it,’ Buck fumed.
“What the...”
“Exactly,” Buck interrupted.
“What is it?” Mark asked coming over to join them.
Randal handed it over to Mark. He quickly read it and then looked at them shocked.
“What is that all about?” Randal said to no one in particular.
“Hey, I’m just the messenger. Can you believe that crap. From the President no less. What in the world does she think is down there? Gold, platinum, what?” he said exasperated, wadding up the paper and tossing it in the trashcan.
“You shouldn’t have done that. It was from the President. You could have had it framed.”
“Like I need another one,” Buck said.
“I assume this puts you back at square one?” Mark asked.
“No, I just need to re-calculate a few things. I guess what really ticks me off is the fact that every time I get just about ready to build the darn thing, something or someone comes along and changes things. We are going to be putting a man’s life at risk. Two now, and I sure don’t want to be the one responsible for having one or both of them die down there.”
“Buck, if anyone in this world can get those men down there and back up, I would want you doing the job,” Randal said.
Bucked looked at him a moment to see if he was kidding but decided he meant it sincerely.
“I appreciate that. Look I’ll need all the information you can get on this guy. Is he going to use the same bio-suit as your guy.”
“No problem. We just won’t give them an alternative.”
“Okay then. Gotta run,” he said and went out a lot calmer than when he had come in.
“I’m glad he takes it that seriously. I sure the hell wouldn’t want someone that just figured what the hell, I’ll give it a shot,” Mark said.
“I’ll bet you are since you’re the one going.”
“Like I didn’t know that all along. You think I'd trust someone else to do this?”
“No. It never even entered my mind,” Randal said, slapping him on the back.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Raymond “The Kid” Roundhouse had joined the military right out of High School. He had hated school and couldn’t wait to get out of there. To his credit, he did manage to stick it out.
More than anything, he wanted to be a Marine but the recruiter wasn’t impressed with his size or weight. Dejected, he went to the Army and enlisted.
They immediately discovered that he was small in stature but big in desire. He pushed himself harder than anyone in his platoon. No matter how hard they tried to break him he always managed to pull through. Slowly he earned the respect of even the drill instructor who professed a dislike for everyone and everything.
At the Basic Combat Training (BCT) the Army uses a color system to track the path of recruits. The Introduction, Red Phase, White Phase, Blue Phase and then graduation. His weakest area was the Red Phase where they are taught the importance of team work and how to work in unison.
Raymond had always been a loner and had never even considered a team sport. Even though there were others like him he still wasn’t very good at blending in. It caused the drill instructor to be extremely harsh with him, trying to get him to wash out.
Raymond hung in and when it came to the White Phase, where basic skills and conditioning along with team work came into play he soon found he had to adapt if he was going to make it. The Blue Phase is where he excelled with weapons training, infiltration and hand to hand combat. No matter how big the man he was up against was it seemed impossible to put the small man down.
At times he took blows that would knock the average person out but he always just kept coming, constantly pressuring his opponent until he wore him down and then he would strike.
At some point, because he looked so young and frail compared to the other trainees, he picked up the name ‘The Kid’ but over time it was shortened to just ‘Kid’.
Alright ‘Kid’ you think you can tackle just about anything don’t your”
“Sir, yes sir,” he shouted jumping up from where he was sitting on the edge of the large mat.
“Well, I guess it’s about time to take some of that cockiness out of you. Get on the gloves and get to the center of the mat,” the grizzly DI said.
“Sir, yes sir,” he said putting on his lightweight sparing gloves and going to the center of the mat.
The others were cheering and banging on the floor. The DI had stripped off his shirt and did a few exercises before putting on his gloves.
Everyone was going crazy as the DI stepped onto the mat and walked out to where the Kid was standing.
“Sir, question sir,” the Kid yelled.
“Damn Kid. I’m standing right here. What are you trying to do puke, break my eardrums so you can sneak up on me,” the DI said.
“Sir, no sir,” he said just as loudly.
“Alright numbnuts what’s your question? Spit it out before I go deaf.”
“Sir, am I allowed to fight as always or does the DI needed special consideration, sir?” he said trying to hold back a laugh.
Everyone cracked up and started yelling and stomping and pounding on the floor.
“Kid,” the DI said and smacked him upside the head so fast that he didn’t have time to react.
The DI was all over him pounding him into the mat. The last thing he saw was the look of fire in the DI’s eyes before he blacked out. It was dead silent in the large room. Everyone froze in place. They had seen the Kid kick the butt of the biggest man in the company. Now he was laying on his back, his legs shaking.
“Anyone else want a shot at me?”
No one said a word, they just looked from the DI to the Kid sprawled out on the mat.
Later that evening the DI came around and sat down beside the Kid.
“Raymond I know you think you got a crappy deal but there was a lesson in that. Got any idea what it was?” the DI said, putting his hand on the Kid’s shoulder.
“No sir, I don’t. All I know is that you never gave me a chance to get ready.”
“There you go Kid. That’s the lesson. Never give someone the chance to get ready. You fight for only one reason, to win. I’m thirty-six years old, you're nineteen. You have youth and think you're invincible at that age. By the time you get to be my age you realize that isn’t enough. You have to be smarter than the other guy. The older you get the swifter it has to end. Keep that in mind as you get older Kid. It just could save your life someday,” the DI said.
“Thanks Sir. I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to remember,” he said touching the bruise under his eye.
The DI just nodded, stood and walked out of the barracks.
As soon as he left several others came over to his rack.
“What did he say to you?” they wanted to know.
“He said he whooped my butt good and would do it again tomorrow if I gave him any attitude,” he told them.
“No way. He really said that? Man that dude is hard core all the way,” one of his friends said.
“Yeah but he is one smart dude,” the Kid replied.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“Boys I've g
ot it all figured out. I just need the other guy's weight with the rebreather and the bio-suit. It isn’t totally necessary in the scheme of things. I used 250 pounds when I made the calculations. I doubt they send anyone larger than that,” Buck said.
“Boy, are you wound up,” Mark said.
“Guy's been drinking too much caffeine,” Randal added.
“Very funny. Get your butts over here and let me show you what I’ve come up with,” he said as he rolled out a blueprint.
“Look at that,” Ronald said laughing, “A full set of blueprints no less. You know Buck, Mark and I designed one just like that on the back of a napkin.”
“You amateurs. If you're such smart guys why don’t we just use your drawing. It would probably save us a lot of time. I would like to stay to see how it all turns out. I can just hear Mark now. Oh Ssssshhiiiittttttt...splat,” he shot back.
“Maybe we should look at his drawings,” Mark said.
“Why? I’m not going,” Randal replied.
“Looks like I may have to poke a small hole in your suit in the back where you can’t reach it,” Mark quipped.
“Okay, we use his drawings. Tell us what we are looking at Buck,” Randal said.
It took Buck a good forty-five minutes to go over the entire set of blueprints. They were not all that interested, especially when he went into detail about his calculations of load bearing and the electrical requirements. They dutifully stood and tried to look like they were following what he was saying.
“It looks kind of like a gondola they use at ski resorts,” Mark pointed out.
“In a way, I suppose. Of course they don’t wear re-breathers on ski gondolas,” he said dryly.
“Good point,” Mark replied.
“You dunderheads got any questions?”
“No refrigerator for drinks?” Randal asked straight-faced.
“I thought about that but decided they would have to open their bio-suits. I thought that might not be the best thing,” Buck answered.
“Well then I guess the next logical question would be how long will it take to build it?”
“A week at most. I would say a little sooner but I want to make sure the anchor points are good and solid,” Buck told them rolling up the drawings.
“Yeah, me too,” Mark added.
**
“Sargent Roundhouse, the base commander wants to see you right away,” the young pfc. told him.
The Kid frowned and laid down his card hand.
“You boys don’t put away that money yet. I’ll be back in a jiffy,” he said acting more sure of himself than he actually was.
He had no idea why the base commander would want to see him. He had just been promoted to Staff Sargent a few weeks ago and he couldn’t think of a single thing he had done wrong.
He changed into his best uniform, checked his beard to make sure he was okay and then headed to the base headquarters. Man, if he did something wrong it must be huge to be called directly to the Old Man. He hurried up the steps, removed his cover and went inside.
A Chief Warrant Officer was sitting at the desk when he entered.
“Staff Sargent Roundhouse reporting as ordered,” he told the Warrant Officer.
“Hang on a minute,” the Warrant said and picked up the phone.
“Commander, Staff Sargent Roundhouse is reporting as directed. Yes sir, yes sir. Very well sir,” he said and hung up the phone.
“Follow me,” he said and started down the hall.
“Do you have any idea why I’m here?” Roundhouse asked in a low voice.
“The Commanding Officer seldom takes me into his confidence Sargent,” was all he said.
They arrived at the Commanding Officer's office and the Warrant Officer knocked on the door.
“Come.”
The Warrant Officer opened the door and gestured for him to enter.
“Sir, Staff Sargent Roundhouse reporting as ordered, sir.”
The Commanding Officer, Colonel Burns, finished writing before he placed his pen down on the desk and looked out at the Sargent standing at attention.
“At ease Sargent, take a chair.”
That took Roundhouse by surprise. He didn’t know exactly why but he was expecting to get chewed out over something he must have done.
“Sargent, you have been selected for a highly classified mission. In a moment, two gentlemen from a special government agency will be in to discuss the mission with you. I have reviewed the records of at least fifty men and I have selected you for this assignment. Of course you will have the opportunity to turn it down after they have briefed you.”
Roundhouse wiggled uncomfortably. Like turning it down was really an option. It would be the end of his military career and he knew it.
“Sir, can you give me any information about what they are wanting from me?”
“Only that it is of the highest national security. It has a certain amount of risk involved but it is not exceptionally dangerous. The risk is calculated, I guess would be a better way of saying it,” the Colonel told him.
“Yes sir, I see sir.”
“Sargent, I will give you one word of advice. Think carefully before you make your decision. Don’t let them pressure you into a decision right on the spot. You need to think it through carefully,” he warned him.
“Yes sir, thank you sir.”
“Then I will have them come in. I will not be present for the meeting,” he said standing and picking up his hat from his spotless desk.
The Sargent jumped to his feet as well.
“Sit. They will be in shortly. Just remember what I said and good luck,” the Colonel said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CTV NEWS – Governor Alan McClain announced that they were going to set up special facilities around the state to accommodate those infected with the Ebola virus. He announced that the facilities would be divided into two separate sections.
“Governor McClain explained that one part of the facility would be used for those that are known to have the disease and the purpose would be to make then as comfortable as possible.”
When asked what the other part of the internment camp would be used for he lashed out at the reporter. “This is a medical facility. This is not an internment camp. I resent the implication.”
He went on to explain that the other side of the facility would be for those who may have been exposed. They will be tested and placed under observation until their condition is determined.
Asked if they this is a voluntary program he replied “of course, this is not a police state.” McClain went on to explain that they were asking for anyone that had been associated with a known infected person to report to the facility to determine their status. “We are doing this in hopes of stopping the spread of this deadly virus. By early detection, we may be able to save thousands if not millions of lives.”
**
“What a crock.” a young man said sitting in a bar drinking a beer.
“Why do you say that,” the man two stools down asked, sipping on a glass of bourbon.
“I was one of the construction workers at this facility the younger one said, using his finger to indicate quotation marks.
“So?”
“Well, you ever see a facility that had razor wire around it and guards patrolling around it 24/7? Does that sound like this so called medical facility? They have bunkbeds, three tall and ten to a room with one common bathroom,” he told the guy, draining the last of his beer.
“You’re saying it’s more like a prison? They can't leave if they want to?”
“From what I was told, if you are suspected of being infected you will be sent there to determine if you really are. If not, yeah, they let you go. If you are, you are there until you die.”
“Hell, they can’t do that. That’s like putting a man in jail because he knew someone that might have committed a crime,” the older man replied.
“My boss said that this was just the first. It’s an experiment to see how
it goes. If it is successful they intend to have then all around the state.”
“But you have to report right. I mean you don’t have to go and tell them. It's voluntary, right?”
“Initially. If this virus continues to spread they are thinking about offering a reward program for people to turn in others that they suspect are infected.”
“Son, you don’t really believe that do you? I mean this is America not Nazi Germany. We ain’t gonna shove people in cattle cars and haul them off to these medical facilities like they did,” the older man said.
The young construction worker shrugged.
“It’s hard to tell what the government may do when they are scared. Who knows where all this will stop,” he said and laid a five dollar bill on the bar top.
On his way out he stopped by the older man and said, “If I was you, I’d just make sure I didn’t make any enemies. You never know where all of this is going to lead.”
“But this is America,” he mumbled at the retreating back of the young man.
**
Jane Meeks was a tenacious young reporter just getting started. Many of her coworkers had already decided that they didn’t like her very much. It's not that she wasn't hardworking or that she felt every story had to be attacked like there was no tomorrow. It was more or less the way she made them feel when she asked questions.
Every time she would ask a coworker about anything, it was more like she was accusing them. It made people uneasy. She was considered abrupt and lacking in social skills. At one point several of her colleagues approached the editor about her behavior.
When he was finished speaking with her about her lack of people skills he felt that she was the one who had been in charge.
“Meeks. Line three,” someone yelled across the room.
“Jane Meeks, Herald Times.”
“Ms. Meeks. I may have something you would be interested in,” a male voice said on the other end.
“Who is this?” she asked abruptly.
“That isn’t important just now. What is important is whether or not you are interested.”
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